The Beginnings of Destiny
by Poiniard
Summary: [FINISHED] The tales of the erudite wizard Belrosian Kenshed, Steward of the Western Tower. These stories are a stylized account of actual events. Updated after a long hiatus.
1. First Journey to Faydwer

FIRST JOURNEY TO FAYDWER  
  
Belrosian stumbled, for his vision had not yet cleared. Leaning heavily on his runed totem staff to maintain his balance, it sank deep into the loamy soil. "At least my stomach isn't churning too badly," he thought. The apprentice wizard looked around him, trying to get his bearings in the dark. There was the silent druid who had ported them, and there was Benarque, coiling up his gnoll hide lariat. The ranger had a drained look about him, a queasiness. He was assuredly not as used to the rigors of teleportation as Belrosian was. But already Ben was on his feet, peering eagerly out into the darkness with the keen elvensight that Belrosian secretly envied. The wizard, an erudite, had only a dim nimbus of pale light, a summoned lightstone, to illumine his way. But Benarque of Surefall Glade was half-elven, and always seemed just as comfortable at night as he was during the day. The ranger was already himself again, eager as always to explore new places. And the Butcherblock Mountains were certainly that.  
  
It started to rain.  
  
"Look at these tracks, Bel," said the ranger, pointing. "They are avian, yet larger than any bird I have ever seen. And they seem to walk upright!" The wizard nodded, but all he saw were a few scratches in the muddy ground. He was trying to get his bearings, and fumbled for the map he'd stuffed in his pack. This druid who had brought them from Qeynos Hills was their last link to home- to anywhere, really. Fortunately, the man noticed the sour look on the face of the young wizard, and offered to lead them through the dark mountains as far as Kaladim.  
  
"Kaladim," asked Benarque. "What place is that?"  
  
"Tis the homeland of the dwarves," Belrosian answered, "an underground city." The young wizard had studied many old maps and scrolls of lore during his training in the High City, and had in his mind a rough idea of what should lay nearby, and what manner of creatures were thought to inhabit these lands. But his map showed only the major roads and landmarks of the island continent of Faydwer. "Little help when one is suddenly dropped into the middle of a foreign mountain range in the dark," thought the wizard. The druid lead them northward at a brisk pace. All the while, Benarque was taking in the surroundings.  
  
"Look," the Gladesman exclaimed, pointing up into the night sky. "See, even the patterns of the stars look different here!" Belrosian only nodded. He knew, of course, that the stars would be different here, for astronomy was taught to even the most novice erudite. What concerned him at the moment was keeping up with the druid, and trying not to get lost until they reached the relative safety of Kaladim.  
  
The three reached the gates of the city at dawn, soaked to the skin but none the worse, and there the old druid took his leave. Benarque handed him a few coins, and bowed, bidding him safe travels. The wizard and the ranger did not stay long in the city of the dwarves. While the wizard mumbled and fussed over his map, Benarque gazed up in wonder at the great stone carving over the gates. Nothing quite like it existed in Qeynos.  
  
Once they were at the gates of Kaladim and it was light out, they paused only long enough to take care of some quick necessities. Belrosian was able to figure out the next leg of their journey, for the city was clearly marked on his travel map.  
  
They set out, this time with the young wizard in the lead. He guided them unerringly along the winding dwarf-road, passing several squat, sturdy guardposts of well-fitted dwarven stonework. The armored dwarven guards watched them pass by, as impassive and indifferent as the brown stone cliffs which loomed up to impressive heights on either side. At last they reached a crossroads, a place where many were gathered. Most of these folk were dwarves, merchants and travellers, probably. Dwarves were rare indeed in Qeynos, and there whenever one arrived at the gates, he was sure to draw a small crowd of onlookers. It was a bit disconcerting, to Belrosian at least, to see so many of the stout little folk about. But apparently erudite and half-elven travelers were common enough here, for the dwarves paid no heed when Bel and Ben stopped to rest among them.  
  
The two friends said nothing to the strangers, and paused only long enough to drink some water and eat some rations. Belrosian sat propped up against the guardhouse, eating little and trying to stay dry in the rain. His map was folded and put away in his backpack. "This road leads straight to the elvenwood, Ben," said the wizard, indicating one of the paths leading away from the crossroads. "We should be able to reach them by nightfall, and be in Kelethin soon after."  
  
"Kelethin," Benarque repeated, nodding. It was there, in the city of the wood elves, that he hoped to find his father. But neither mentioned that subject. Finding a single elven bard in the entire city, one whose name they did not even know, would require more than a little luck. "It is said that the archers of Kelethin rival even old Hager," said Benarque, "and their fletchers and bowyers are beyond compare."  
  
"Hrm," agreed the wizard. "I would not doubt it."  
  
Though the sun was hidden behind heavy rain clouds, they could tell it was reaching noon, and they still had a long road ahead before they came to the elvenwood. Benarque was eager to press on.  
  
They took the left fork, and set out again, heading east now. The land here was less rocky, and the path less well-travelled. At one point, they thought they heard the sound of swordplay, echoing up one of the canyons. But the wind brought with it a faint smell of death and decay, and the two decided to press onward.  
  
At last they came to a great narrow pass in the mountains, this one covered with green grass rather than the bare stone of the Butcherblocks. The rain finally stopped, and there was a lightness in the air as they made their way between the hills. Then, all of a sudden the hills parted, and they found themselves in a great forest. They were come to the fabled elvenwood, the Forest of Faydark.  
  
And dark it was, though not so dark as the Toxxulia Forest near Belrosian's home. Tall trees with straight trunks and smooth bark reached gracefully upward all around them, their canopies interlocking to filter out much of the sunlight. There was fairie music in the air, though they could not catch more than a glimpse of the elusive little folk. All the forest was fay and magical. They continued along the path, winding over and around small hillocks and through fern-covered dells. Then, they came in sight of the great wizard spires of the Faydark, and halted in amazement.  
  
Benarque of Surefall Glade quickly became accustomed to the narrow ramps and swaying wooden bridges between the trees of Kelethin, but it took the wizard Belrosian quite some time to become comfortable, so high off the ground. Benarque spent his days speaking with the rangers of Kelethin, while Belrosian would often walk to Felwithe to scour the libraries of the High Elves. Still, the two friends spent most of their time together exploring the city among the trees. Benarque even took up the challenge of teaching the young wizard the elven tongue, and found his student to be a quick learner.  
  
"Now, if only I could teach you to handle a sword as easily as I have taught you the elven language," laughed Benarque.  
  
"Perhaps you should," replied the wizard with a grin. "After all, my spells were of such little aid to you in the tundra of Everfrost." Both chuckled at that, knowing it to be the exact opposite of the truth.  
  
They found the wood elves to be a happy folk and carefree, perhaps even a bit quirky and frivolous by the conservative standards of Qeynos that they were accustomed to. Perhaps the oddest thing about the Faydark culture was the deferrent respect in which the wood elves held their neighbors, the High Elves of Felwithe.  
  
It came as a surprise to learn that the entire forest was in fact in a state of war. It seemed that a powerful tribe of orcs inhabited a mountainous citadel north of the city. Mercenaries and adventurers from all over Faydwer came to aid the elves against the forays the orcs sent into their forest, keeping the city and the elvenwood safe with their efforts. Perhaps grimmest of all was the news that the orcs held many dwarves and elves as slaves in their citadel, forced to work in chains in the mines beneath the lash.  
  
After several days spent resting in the elvenwood, the two companions had learned a great deal about the lifestyle and mannerisms of the elves. But they heard no tidings of Belrosian's kinsman Forne, and Benarque had no luck whatsoever in finding his father. As for the dragon-mark each man bore, those they kept discreetly hidden. 


	2. A Portent of Good Fortune

A PORTENT OF GOOD FORTUNE  
  
Belrosian and Benarque had joined a group to hunt down bandits in the forest. Their leader was a bard named Aildain, and he had already recruited another wizard, a gnome and a dwarf. These particular bandits were lead by the sisters Nybright, renegades from Kelethin who were rumored to be encamped deep in the forest, where they waylaid innocent travellers.  
  
"The Nybrights are the daughters of a high elf," the bard explained. "But their banditry has brought dishonor on the family name, and driven their father to drown his shame in the bottle."  
  
"We are accustomed to fighting bandits," Belrosian said. "Benarque and I fought many of them in the Karanas, and we've learned to watch out for their tricks." All that seemed so long ago and far away now.  
  
The six adventurers assembled between two hills leading down into the Lesser Faydark, and set out. The gnome and the dwarf were in the lead. Benarque, trotting along beside Belrosian, became more and more uneasy as they travelled down the path. Even the wizard could sense this part of the forest was somehow different from the Greater Faydark around Kelethin. Here it was eerily quiet, and the trees seemed not as old. "I see the tracks of orcs," Benarque noted. "But there is something else," he added quietly. "There is something ominous in the air here."  
  
Suddenly, there was the sound of a spell being cast, and a flash of red light. Before anyone could react, the gnome had dropped lifeless to the ground, his blood spilling out on the leaf-covered path.  
  
"By Brell's bloody orbs, RUN!" screamed the dwarf warrior, running back towards them. Behind the dwarf, Belrosian caught a glimpse of a tiny figure standing over the gnome's body. It raised its spear and pointed, and the terror-stricken dwarf stopped dead in his tracks. Literally.  
  
"Brownies!" yelled Aildain. "Run for it!" The four survivors scattered. Belrosian turned and dashed off heedless into the forest. Tree branches caught at his mantle, and underbrush snagged the hem of his robes. As he ran, somehow the wizard was able cause a part of his mind to remain calm, allowing him to recall what he had read concerning brownies. They were reclusive and rarely seen, but fiercely protective of their part of the forest. It was nothing more than terrible luck that caused their party to blunder into one of the roving brownie scouts.  
  
The four survivors became separated, but finally managed to meet up on the far edge of the forest, where the elvenwood ended and a mist-shrouded range of mountains began. Belrosian was relieved to see that his friend had survived. But then the wizard frowned. Benarque had a strange expression on his face, a look of wonder mingled with terror.  
  
"Belrosian, guess what I saw in the forest," exclaimed the Gladesman. "A unicorn!"  
  
"That is a portent of good fortune to come," said the bard, coming up to join them. "Or at least it is so held among my people." After the recent bloody encounter in the forest, the two friends agreed they could use all the good luck they could get.  
  
Belrosian sat huddled beneath a rock overhang in the foothills. They were camped not far from the elvenwood.  
  
"So," he grumbled, "have you found out where we are?" From the great vents in the earth, the erudite knew they had entered the Steamfont mountains, but other than that they were quite nearly lost. "We have spoken to some locals," the bard Aildain answered. He and the ranger Benarque had gone scouting about an hour before, and had just returned. "They told us we are near the city of Ak'Anon." The wizard nodded.  
  
"Aildain, I can't help but notice that axe you have," Benarque said. The bard smiled, and pulled a large, steel-bladed axe from his belt. He handed it to the Gladesman, who hefted it, getting a feel for the weapon. "Nice," Benarque whistled, handing it back. "Where did you get it?"  
  
Aildain smoothly took a few practice swings at the air with his axe before tucking it back into his belt. "Tis a minotaur axe," he said. "Minotaurs?" Benarque asked. "Yes, they are the enemies of the gnomes," answered Aildain. "They live in some labyrinthine caves further up in these mountains, to the northeast." Benarque stared up at the sky and shifted his weight.  
  
Belrosian could see where this was going. Wearily, he closed his spellbook and placed it in his backpack. Picking up his runed totem staff, the wizard got to his feet and brushed off his robes. "Lead on," he sighed. Benarque grinned and set off briskly, heading to the northeast. The bard walked along next to him trying to stifle a grin of his own.  
  
A short time later, they found themselves fighting halfway up a steep ridge overlooking a wide, bowl-shaped vale. Some giant clockwork ruins were below them, and they were near the minotaur caves. Harpies, elementals, drakes and the occasional rogue clockwork or skeleton had come at them, but they had the mountain at their backs and had stood their ground well. At last, they slew a minotaur slaver. The bard took its axe, and with a smile handed it to Benarque.  
  
"Well," the wizard said, "it seems that the unicorn truly did grant you good luck Ben." Both friends thought the ranger was very lucky to have such a fine weapon practically fall into his lap, when they had very nearly met their deaths not long before. "Don't you agree, Aildain?" But when they looked up, the bard was gone. 


	3. The Night at the Stone Bridge

THE NIGHT AT THE STONE BRIDGE  
  
The three friends sat huddled about the watch-fire atop the great stone tower which guarded the river crossing.  
  
They kept their cloaks pulled tight about them, in a vain attempt to keep out the incessant drizzle of the Plains of Karana. The tower with its guards and its stone bridge, and the immutable wizard-spires nearby, had beckoned them with the hope of a peaceful night's rest in this dangerous land. They now awaited only the dawn before they would set out again.  
  
Belrosian was in a particularly foul mood this night, and he kept peering out beneath the hood of his robes, scanning into the darkness as if searching. The wizard had a hunted look about him, and that unsettled his friend, the scout Benarque Fortuneblade. The gloom that hung over the wizard seemed not to affect Kalweni. The paladin was as unperturbed now as she ever was.  
  
"I thought it rained a lot in the Butcherblocks," said Benarque, trying to lighten the mood and create a little conversation, "but that was nothing compared to this. Does it never stop raining here?" Kalweni looked up from sharpening her axe. "These lands are named for the god of rain," she said in all seriousness, without so much as a smirk. Benarque looked back at the wizard, wondering what was on his mind.  
  
"Perhaps," thought Benarque, "being so long out in the open or on the road is beginning to wear on him." They had seen many griffons and hill giants on the way here, but that sort of danger did not normally upset the wizard like this. Often it seemed that when Benarque felt in fear of his life, the wizard was always there, always confident with hidden arcane power. "No," he thought, "it must be something else." Perhaps it was something the gypsy woman, Mrysilla, had said. They had visited the gypsy camp north of the Stone Bridge earlier that day. Kalweni had given the woman a handful of lightstones, with a few coins passed and barely a word between them.  
  
Afterward, Benarque had noticed the wizard speaking to the woman in hushed tones when he thought no one was looking. The woman had given Belrosian a small book, which the wizard promptly tucked into his pack. He had not so much as mentioned the tome since.  
  
"What troubles you, wizard?" he asked. "It is something the gypsy said?" Belrosian started, and made an odd sort of noise, as if Benarque had interrupted him from some intense reverie. But then he sighed, and pulled his old red mantle tighter about him, and spoke for the first time since lunch.  
  
"The gypsy mentioned an old hermit who lives south of the the stone bridge," he answered, as if THAT would explain it all. At the mention of crossing the stone bridge, Kalweni looked up. "I know little of what lies beyond the river," she said, "save only that centaurs and aviaks reside there, under Karana's protection."  
  
Benarque frowned. Not at the mention of the stone bridge, but about the hermit, thinking he knew now what had been keeping the wizard pre-occupied. "Morin told me that long ago a sect of wilders was driven out of Surefall Glade," Benarque explained, "and it occurs to me that this hermit may be one of their following." His jaw clenched, and he rubbed absently at the three days growth of beard on his chin. "I think we should indeed pay him a visit."  
  
Kalweni laughed, and said, "Benarque, we do not need any pretenses from you. We know you are dying to see what lies over the next hill, or, in this case, beyond the stone bridge." "True," chuckled the ranger, "but Morin is a wise man as well as skilled, and I spoke with him for a while at his camp in the Haunted Forest. He would surely not have mentioned the unkempt druids to me if they were a trivial matter."  
  
Then the wizard spoke up again. "In any case, that is not what has been troubling me. My thoughts are of Felwithe, not of South Karana."  
  
The paladin and the ranger exchanged befuddled glances. "Felwithe?" they exclaimed together. "The marble city of the High Elves is a long way off, wizard," laughed Kalweni, "and unless you have suddenly learned the secrets of teleportation, it means another hard climb over the mountains." Belrosian scowled and shook his head. "Making jokes about magic, are we?" he quipped. "Well, this is no laughing matter. And yes, I realize the road is long. Quellios help me, it means yet another crossing of the Ocean of Tears on that infernal boat. I would avoid it if it were possible, but I think now I may find the answers I seek in Felwithe."  
  
Then it was Benarque's turn to laugh. "Ho-ho," he exclaimed. "Remember the last time we crossed the mountains, Kal? How he kept himself pressed up against the mountain wall, tapping his staff like a blind man, for fear we'd lead him over a cliff in the dark?"  
  
"Aye," answered Kalweni. "The wizard was grumbling afterward for a week that his feet still hurt." She grinned. Then, the two became serious for a moment, and Benarque put his gloved hand on the wizard's shoulder. "The trip will not be as rough this time, my friend, now that we know the ways better," he said. "But, Felwithe? I must ask, why there?"  
  
Belrosian grimaced, and stared out into the gloom. The wizard muttered something under his breath. The two half-elves, with their keen hearing, thought that he said something about ancient diaries. "That is all I will say for now," the wizard mumbled.  
  
Then, as often happens in the world of Norrath, the rain clouds suddenly retreated. The sun appeared, rising above the distant mountains. From their vantage atop the tower, the fair vista of the central Plains of Karana became visible before them, spread out as far as the eye could see. In the midst of it all, the ancient, massive wizard-spires reached gracefully upward. The view was indeed astonishing, and the three friends caught their breath.  
  
"As for me," Kalweni said after a moment, "I would not mind returning to the elvenwood, though the road is not an easy one. I long to visit again with our guildmates, the brothers and sisters in arms I have not seen in many days."  
  
"So," Benarque asked. "Do we go south, to find this hermit, or do we go to seek the wisdom of the High Elves?"  
  
For a long moment, Belrosian was silent. Then, he looked up. "There is more."  
  
"When we passed through the gypsy camp, I felt a strange pulse of mana. Very faint it was, but growing in strength. When Mrysilla the gypsy woman saw my dragon-mark, she told me a strange tale. Recently, she and Romilla have been having troublesome dreams. Their dreams are of a vicious battle before a bridge in the heart of a forest of murky darkness. Imposed in her vision over the image of each of the combatants was a symbol of a dragon- some coiled, some striking, some sleeping, some flying. She indicated my own dragon mark and said it was similar to those in her dreams. When I asked her about the strange pulse of mana, she said a new nexus is forming around her camp. In a few days, it will be complete."  
  
"So a gypsy woman is having dreams," asked the ranger, "why should that concern us?"  
  
"And if there is a new foci of soulbonding," asked Kalweni, "that is a good thing, is it not?"  
  
"I think the growing nexus is somehow a sign for the Thrice-marked of Veeshan," the wizard explained, "and the gypsy's dreams are but a side effect of the powerful warp in the fabric of magic that is taking place here. But why here, and why now? There have been no new foci since the days of the Combine empire." Belrosian scowled, and shook his head in consternation. Then he looked up. "A wedding is to take place in a few days in which two Thrice-marked are to be bonded. That coincidence is rather too strong to overlook."  
  
"Which path we must take is now clear to me. The hermit is on the way to the Arena, and I think that after we learn what we can from him, we must continue on to this wedding." 


	4. The Hermit

THE HERMIT  
  
Crossing the river brought the three friends into the farthest wilds of the Karanas. The soldiers of Qeynos held the crossing at the great stone bridge in the name of Antonius Bayle, but beyond the river their power did not go. Strange civilizations were said to exist there- the centaurs and the aviaks. And somewhere out in those vast plains lived a hermit, an outcast.  
  
"A traitor to the Jaggedpine Treefolk," Benarque sneered. The wizard nodded in agreement. His own folk, the Erudites, had expelled heretics in the past. Of course, the similarities ended there, but Belrosian thought he could understand some of the Gladesman's feelings. Kalweni wore a stern look as well. A paladin was opposed to traitors of any sort, and she would see this hermit was brought to justice.  
  
"Let us travel cautiously," Belrosian warned. "Many unknown dangers may lie ahead." Kalweni and Benarque nodded their agreement as the wizard cast upon them a spell which made their eyes tingle, allowing them to see through any arcane veil of invisibility. The Erudite then cast another spell, and first Kalweni, then himself vanished from the view of the guards. Benarque, using his own form of magic, made himself blend into the surroundings as well.  
  
They skirted the hills along the southern shore of the great river, heading east. Benarque, a little bit ahead, lead the way, while Belrosian in his robes and Kalweni in her bronze plate armor followed behind, on guard. A heavy mist was in the air, and they could see little. Atop a hill to their right stood a centaur archer, watching them indifferently. Yet he was a sentry, and the centaur's enormous horn bow was held strung and ready in his hands. Benarque raised a hand, beckoning, and they continued on.  
  
They saw no more centaurs that day, only the great wild elephants that inhabited the warm southern plains. The Gladesman lead them skillfully past a gathering of treants. The huge, towering, solitary treemen were known to them of course. Treants ranged all across the Plains. But here they paused. There were two of the enormous creatures gathered here, as tall as towers, their great outstretched limbs creaking as branches in a gale, almost as if the two were speaking to one another. Belrosian did not know if the treants could see them, but he had no desire to find out. In any case, as long as one did not anger the great treemen, no harm would they do. But their red eyes burned.  
  
They turned south, and to their left a great precipice dropped off to unseen depths. Belrosian had never seen a canyon so wide or so deep. At last, Ben raised a hand and called a halt. The ranger knelt down, examining the turf and sniffing the air. "There are tracks here," he said. "They are not fresh, but I am skilled enough to follow them. A human, alone, and male by the look of it." "It seems that we have found our quarry," Kalweni observed. "Lead on," she said. "Let's make an end of it."  
  
A short distance ahead, a small compound was built in the midst of the plains. Square, made of rough stone, it had a large wooden gate on the east side and a single, shingle-roof cottage inside. The three friends hurried up to the compound. Quietly trying the gate, they found it unlocked. They opened it and went inside. Barrels of fresh water and boxes of provisions were stacked neatly inside the compound, and a thin stream of smoke rose from the chimney of the cottage. "It seems the hermit is at home," said Kalweni.  
  
"What is that barking?" Belrosian asked aloud. He'd not seen any wolves in this part of the Plains, south of the river. Then, he stood bolt upright. Terrible memories from his past came flooding back, memories of a place dark and dank and horrible. Black Burrow. That was no wolf they heard barking- that was the speech of a gnoll!  
  
"Quickly!" he yelled, "Get away from the outer walls. Stay in the center of the compound, near the hermit's cottage!" But it was too late. They had relied on the stone walls of the settlement to keep them secure, but the walls were not high enough. Over the west wall climbed the largest gnoll any of them had ever seen. It was a gnoll of Tesch Mas. The beast snarled, and leapt at Kalweni, who was resting with her back to the wall.  
  
"To arms!" the paladin cried, swinging her great axe at the gnoll. Almost as if it were an afterthought, Kalweni added, "I could use a little help." 


	5. Benarque's Departure

BENARQUE'S DEPARTURE  
  
"Belrosian, I must speak with you." Benarque the ranger sat on a log before a dim fire, surrounded by the shapes of his two companions, a paladin, breathing softly as she lay asleep, and a wizard, upright and attentive in his red hooded robes. The strong scent of pine was everywhere, as the three travelers sheltered within the boughs of a giant fir tree on the outskirts of an evergreen wood. Above them, the stars glimmered in their nightly procession, little caring of the events in the lives of men on Norrath.  
  
"My ears are always open to you my friend," said the red-robed wizard.  
  
Benarque did not immediately respond, but instead silently turned an arrow over and over in his hands and stared pensively into the dying flames for several moments. At last he spoke, the arrow coming to rest. "I must leave you," he said in a near-whisper.  
  
Belrosian blinked beneath his cowl then squinted at the rugged ranger. "Leave? What do you mean?" Benarque sighed. "I have been trying to figure out how I would tell you this for the past week," he said. "All my preparation as to what I would say seems to have fallen flat."  
  
He turned his eyes to meet Belrosian's for the first time. "A very long time ago I set out from Surefall Glade to find my father. To this day I have not come any closer to that goal. I have found many purposes to fight for in my journeys with you and Kalweni but this..."  
  
Belrosian rubbed his chin. "I admit our quest to seek your father has not been on our top list of priorities. I apologize for this. It is simply that we have gotten so caught up with the Mark-bearers and the prophesies of the Three Walkers." The wizard frowned, faint lines creasing his copper-tanned face. "If I have angered you..."  
  
"Don't be foolish," Benarque said. "It is nothing you have or have not done. It is me, Belrosian." The half-elven ranger shut his eyes and shook his head. "There is something within me...within my soul perhaps...It is calling me, and I cannot ignore it." He looked up at Belrosian again and grimaced. "I don't expect you to understand. I can't describe it to you in terms you could comprehend. I'm not sure I understand it myself. All I know is there is some higher force calling me to move, to accomplish some purpose. And that purpose is not here."  
  
Now Belrosian stared into the flames for a moment before speaking. "I can understand this desire in you. You are a remarkable man, not overlooked by the gods. I do not doubt they have a special design in store for you." He took a deep breath then said in a deliberate tone, "What I truly cannot understand is why you think you must leave us to find this purpose."  
  
Benarque frowned and exhaled through his nose. "Because it is a journey only I can make, Belrosian. I can explain it no more clearly than that. Just as I know I must go, I also know I must go alone." A cloud passed over the moon, shrouding both men's faces in darkness. "It is not a decision I make easily, nor with any great relish." Belrosian steeped his long fingers and leaned back against the log, his face a mask of concern. "Normally I would not propose to go against divine will, but in this case I find my heart speaks louder than my sense. You are more than a friend to me, Ben. You are a brother. It is no secret that I would now be in the company of the gods many times over if not for your efforts. I do not know what we, what I, would do without you."  
  
Benarque winced as if physically struck. "I knew you would say that, wizard." He steadied himself. "It is also no secret that you taught me more about this world than any man under the sun. It is no secret that I owe you my life just as much as you owe me your own. And let it be no secret now that this is the hardest decision I will ever make!" His voice had risen to a near shout and he hastily lowered it to keep from waking Kalweni. He scowled into the flames. "If I do not go now, I will miss my chance forever. I will never find the answers I seek; I will never find my purpose. This I know for certain."  
  
"I will not try to stop you," Belrosian said softly, accepting defeat. "And I will aide you however I can before you start out. But know this: I will not forget you, nor ever give up hoping for your return."  
  
"And I will never forget you either, you musty old scholar," said Benarque with a chuckle, the first time he had smiled that night. "I will return one day, if the gods are merciful and I survive my journey. This I swear."  
  
"What will you tell the young paladin?" asked Belrosian.  
  
Benarque glanced at the sleeping woman. "I will tell her nothing. She would not let me leave, no matter what I told her, if she knew my intentions. I shall leave it to you."  
  
Kalweni's eyes suddenly flew open and she sat up, bolt-straight. "You mean you were going to leave without saying goodbye?" She scowled at Benarque and clenched her fists. "You insensitive bastard."  
  
Benarque could not restrain a laugh, nor could Belrosian. "I'm sorry Kal," said Benarque. "I...I thought it would be easier for you if I slipped away unannounced." He grinned. "I suppose you overheard the entire conversation?"  
  
"By thunder I did. Seems you don't know how to keep quiet while someone's trying to sleep," she snapped. "But if you think you're going anywhere, just let me get my axe and you can rethink your decision."  
  
Belrosian put a hand on Kalweni's shoulder. "If you know the whole story, Kalweni, then you know there is no changing his mind."  
  
Kalweni looked downtrodden and said, "Of course. But I don't have to like it. And I certainly am not letting him leave without a goodbye."  
  
Benarque clasped her forearm. "Forgive me, Kalweni. I should never have presumed to leave you without a word."  
  
"It is forgiven," she said. "But it makes your departure no easier." Her blue eyes stared into his brown, full of concern and worry.  
  
"There is one other matter I must inform you both of," said Benarque. "Perhaps it is best to simply show you..." He pulled off his shirt and turned around. His companions gazed in puzzlement at his bare back. Belrosian was about to question him when he realized-  
  
"Your Mark is gone!" cried Kalweni.  
  
Belrosian's jaw dropped. "My friend, how can this be?"  
  
"I do not know," Benarque replied, slipping his shirt back over his head. "I felt it disappear one night not long ago...It simply dissolved away into my skin, leaving no trace."  
  
Belrosian looked apprehensive. "Ben, this is a definite sign. I have never heard of a Mark simply vanishing...What this may portend, I do not know. It is a frightening prospect however." "Indeed," said Kalweni. "But does this absolve you from the Mark of Draconians? If you are not Marked, how can you be one of us?" "That is one of my prime reasons for leaving," said the ranger. "There must be a cause for the removal of my Mark. Somehow, I know the answer to this riddle will be found alongside the riddle of my father. In the meantime, I'm of little use to the Light if I am Unmarked and no longer to communicate telepathically with our brethren."  
  
Belrosian and Kalweni both started in surprise. "You mean you no longer hear the collective thoughts of the Mark of Draconians?" said Kalweni.  
  
"No," Benarque replied. "I have been dead to them for some days now."  
  
"Then I suppose you really are excommunicated from us then," said Belrosian. "This is an unfortunate turn of events. I had counted on being able to speak with you telepathically on your journey at the very least."  
  
Benarque shook his head. "No, the gods have denied us even that small comfort. I will be alone, physically and mentally."  
  
The three said nothing for a while then, and watched the fire burn down to glowing embers. A wolf howled in the far distance, the eerie sound echoing through the tree-filled dale around them.  
  
"I must be a lone wolf now," Benarque said to no one in particular.  
  
Belrosian looked at him, opened his mouth to speak, but then decided against it and remained silent. Kalweni stared mournfully at Benarque. "I suppose this is the end, then," said Benarque at length. "There is nothing more to discuss about my departure."  
  
His companions said nothing.  
  
Benarque reached for his pack and opened it, and began rummaging through it. He produced a short sword in a black leather scabbard and a small wooden box. Holding them in his hands, he looked gravely at each of his companions and then spoke. "I am going to give each of you something to remember me by."  
  
He held up the wooden box and opened it. Within was set a coin-sized disc of green marble with a strange symbol graven on it. He handed it to Kalweni. "This is the Rune of Ivy. If you remember, I won it off one of the vicious griffons of the Karanas." Kalweni nodded, sadly. "Take it now, and hold it for me. It is said there are four such runes, which together can create the perfect armor for a woodsman. Should I return, I will seek these other runes. For now, keep it safe and remember me." Kalweni took the wooden box, her eyes pooled with unshed tears, her mouth quavering in a frown to fight back sobs.  
  
Benarque turned to Belrosian, who sat frowning into the embers of their fire. "To you, Belrosian, I give this." He held up the short sword in its scabbard. "This is Morin's Blade, the leader of the rangers of Kithicor. I performed a valuable service to her, if you remember, and she gave me her own sword as a reward. Now I want you to have it."  
  
Belrosian solemnly took the blade and laid it across his open palms.  
  
"I know you are no swordsman," said Benarque, "but bear it for me now, in remembrance of our many adventures, and our friendship."  
  
Belrosian met his friend's eyes and said, "No man shall touch it until you return for it, Ranger of Surefall." A tear made its way lazily down his dark cheek but his face remained stoic.  
  
Benarque wiped a hand across his eyes, sniffled, then said, "You two are the best friends I have ever known, and will ever know. I shall never forget you, no matter where my travels take me." Then he stood and turned his eyes toward the heavens and held out his hands, almost like a priest. "May your arrows always find their marks. May the bards sing your praises across the land. May the gods write your names in the stars."  
  
Belrosian and Kalweni both stood now, and surrounded Benarque. "May your spells never fizzle, noble woodsman," said the wizard softly.  
  
"May the gods pave your way with Light," said the paladin.  
  
And then they embraced, the three of them, and held each other in arms for a long moment.  
  
"Let us sleep now," said Belrosian. "In the morning you shall be gone. Good journey to you, Benarque, son of Surefall."  
  
"Farewell to you, my friends, Belrosian the Wise, Kalweni Stormcaller," said Benarque.  
  
They slept.  
  
In the cold morning, Belrosian and Kalweni awoke to find the ranger gone. A bundle of wood had been stacked near their stone fire ring, in case they wanted a hot breakfast and their water skins had been filled near to bursting with fresh, icy-cool stream water. Belrosian couldn't help a smile as he hoisted his pack. A ranger to the end.  
  
A set of man-sized tracks set off west of their camp but quickly vanished into the trees and could not be followed. Kalweni stared off to the west and knew the ranger had put miles and miles behind him already. So the two set off, wizard and paladin, heading for their old haunts in Qeynos, the western port city. They spoke not a single word the entire trip, each reflecting on his or her own memories of the half-elf. By sundown, they were entering the gates of the city.  
  
***  
  
Belrosian sat on a stool in the tavern, a little leaner and a little grayer than he had once been, sipping an ale, which he had acquired a taste, not to mention the responsibility for, some years before. He still held that a drunken wizard was a threat to all those around him but he had tailored his tolerance to alcohol over the years and could hold his liquor now. Across the tavern, a bard was finishing his song before a group of patrons, who were actively booing the poor lad and looking for things to throw.  
  
"I'm sorry!" cried the young bard, "but I just don't know any good stories! You seem to have heard them all!" The crowd grumbled and glowered at the young man, who was trying to pack up his lute as inconspicuously as possible.  
  
Perhaps it was the alcohol, but Belrosian decided to get up off his stool and speak to the boy. He made his way through the dozen or so bar patrons and sidled up to the bard.  
  
"So you need a new story, eh?" whispered the wizard. The boy jumped, startled. "Y-yes, I suppose..." He looked Belrosian up and down and said, "Are you a mage, sir?"  
  
Belrosian smiled. "I am somewhat familiar with arcane lore, yes. But today I will not be teaching you any of that. Instead, I will tell you a tale of a hero. This tale you can be assured few have heard. And you will be the first bard to sing of it."  
  
The boy smiled and shouted, "Listen, friends, the old man here has a tale to entertain you, perhaps even better than I!" The crowd booed the boy but quickly turned their attention to Belrosian.  
  
The wizard, despite bristling over being called "old," cleared his throat and began his tale.  
  
"Hear now the tale of Benarque, the half-elven ranger of Surefall, friend to wizards and swordsman extraordinaire! It began one day in the remote but fair glade of 'neath the Surefall, some miles out of distant Qeynos. Benarque was a young boy, brought there by a mother plagued by guilt. Little did he know what he would someday become...."  
  
On Belrosian's hip hung a short sword in a black scabbard, patiently awaiting the return of its master 


	6. The Lake of Ill Omen

THE WEDDING AT THE ARENA  
  
Belrosian lay asleep on a cot in the common room of the Red Lion Inn. Tossing and turning in the throes of a nightmare, he mumbled aloud in his sleep.  
  
"Lost in the Lake...falling off a cliff, falling out of a boat...waterlogged...confused about what happened during the ceremony...they brought the greater force to the parley...charmed, feared, backstabbed...outnumbered two to one twice over...what would I like my tombstone to say...slain, ignored, left behind...betrayed by the very mercenaries hired to be our guards..."  
  
The wizard awoke with a start. Still trembling and sweaty from his nightmare, he looked around. It was the middle of the night. The common room was still dark. He could hear snoring from one of the other travellers staying at the inn.  
  
"Bah, what a slaughter," he said to himself. "I won't die on behalf of a Kelethin soothsayer again, nor join again in battle unless the dark elves be at the very gates of Qeynos."  
  
With that, he pulled the blankets back over himself and went back to sleep.  
  
THE LAKE OF ILL OMEN  
  
The forces of light assailed the Sarnak fortress guarding the pass into the Lake of Ill Omen. Composed mainly of northern mercenaries and adventurers, the small army's supply line lead around the Lake and southward to the elven outpost of Firiona Vie. They had for many months laid siege to the fortress. At one place in the outworks, several groups had charged the gates and managed to battle their way through to the inner wall of the fortress. One of these small, brave groups was joined by Belrosian Kenshed and his dwarven friend Hallertau Noblehop.  
  
At midday, a brief lull fell over the battlefield. It had been a tough fight. All the elves were weary, as was the wizard. Belrosian sat down to rest, leaning his back against the wall. He leaned over to whisper to Hallertau. "By Quellios," the wizard said. "You can't spit without hitting a druid around here." He pulled his hood over his face.  
  
Hallertau only nodded, and thumbed his axe. The blade was nocked in several places. He agreed with the wizard. Druids were common here in the Lake, and fully half of their war party was an elven nature-priest. The battle had been close so far, but at least everyone was alive, and they had won their way as far as the ledge overlooking the gates.  
  
Hallertau grunted, and stood up. If dwarves ever got weary, Hallertau certainly was. And he looked it. Hall's head was still spinning from a blow to the head. The druids had patched him up, but it still hurt. And that lump on his head was no mere scratch. Belrosian watched the battered warrior as he stomped around the battlements, guarding the spellcasters and keeping an eye out for Sarnak reinforcements. Suddenly, Hallertau lost his balance, and began windmilling his arms furiously. Belrosian sat bolt upright as he saw this.  
  
"Hallertau!" he cried. "Look out for the ledge!"  
  
There was a sickening thump from the ground far below.  
  
"I'm all right!" Hallertau called up. That blow to the head must have caused the dwarf to lose his balance, and he had unwittingly fallen right off the walls of the fortress.  
  
"Hallertau, do you require assistance?" called down one of the more sensible druids.  
  
"Nope," answered the dwarf. "There's only one of those scaly lizards about down here. I can make my way back up just fine." Well, there is no such thing as a lone sarnak, and the next thing Belrosian saw was Hallertau returning at a run, three angry sarnaks at his heels.  
  
"Damnation," cursed the wizard. "I am already weak. This could spell our end." Wearily, the Erudite got to his feet and began casting a spell. BOOM! BOOM! The sarnak Hallertau was fighting went down. The wizard was now all but spent, but Hallertau was wounded, and all three druids were out of healing spells. He launched his last shock of frost at the next sarnak. The thing turned and came straight at the wizard.  
  
***  
  
The situation had not improved. The weary, battered adventurers sat huddled near the ledge. All about them, they heard cries of sarnak reinforcement mounting a sortie from deep within the fortress. The druids had managed to heal Hallertau, but Belrosian still had not regained his full power. Suddenly, an attack came upon them without warning. A swarm of sarnaks appeared, as if by magic. Perhaps they had scaled the walls, or come up through some hidden salley-port. None of that mattered now.  
  
Belrosian began casting a spell. BOOM! BOOM! Hallertau was dying fast, bleeding from two- no, three- terrible wounds. The druids tried to step back, concerned. One of the sarnaks crumpled, but five leapt to take his place.  
  
"What do those damned tree-dwellers know of warfare, anyway?" Belrosian cursed grimly to himself.  
  
A strange sense of calm descended upon the wizard at that moment, there in the midst of battle. Sometimes the people of Erudin believe that it is the spirit of Quellios the Tranquil which comes to them in times of dire need. Or perhaps it is some trait passed on to them by Erud the Great.  
  
Belrosian watched as Hallertau died beneath a horde of foes.  
  
Belrosian watched as the druids scurried about, frantically trying to open magical portals to carry themselves to safety.  
  
With an almost detached sense of doom, Belrosian fired a great burst of ice into the creature that had slain his brave friend. BOOM! It died, but Belrosian felt no gratitude, no vengeance, no fear, no scorn. With the brave warrior gone, there was little hope now for the rest of them. The sarnaks howled with delight, and rushed at the druids, curved blades and clawed hands raised high. One of them turned from the group, and came right at Belrosian. There was only one thing left to do.  
  
Without a word, Belrosian ran straight for the ledge, and dove off.  
  
***  
  
Belrosian blinked, and tried to clear his head. He lay face down in the grass. He could not move, could see nothing. It was as if the spirit of calm which had come upon him had turned into a numb apathy. His leap had not carried him far enough to escape the clutches of the sarnaks. He could sense one behind him, could hear it, but could not see it. He could see only green grass, (or was it a green haze?) before his eyes, no matter which way he turned. A sarnak was still clawing at him, tearing through his shieldskin, tearing through his robes. Now, the haze of green turned into a haze of red. Fear entered into his mind. And that fear would save his life.  
  
Acting on instinct now rather than intellect, Belrosian began the casting of the shadowstep. Had he been thinking, he would have realized that in the confined space beneath the walls of the fortress, a shadowstep would not work. This sort of spell required a wide open space to funciton. The sarnak behind him struck again, interrupting his spell. But Belrosian's instinct drove him on. Ever in his youth he had been trained- shadowstep, then gate- such is the wizard's way. Not even realizing that his shadowstep had failed, not even caring that it would not have worked, he began to cast the next spell in the sequence- opening a gate-portal of his own.  
  
The sarnak slashed brutally at the cornered wizard, but he regained his concentration and continued his casting. 


	7. The Champions of Firiona Vie

THE CHAMPIONS OF FIRIONA VIE  
  
Belrosian awoke to a mist-shrouded morning in Firiona Vie. He took a few quick bites of travelling rations and splashed his face with water. Then he stashed his bedroll and spellbook in his pack and stepped outside. The previous night, he had arrived at the elven outpost on the Maiden's Voyage, the impressive gnomish caravel that plied the Timorous Deep. The wizard stretched and breathed deeply. The air was warm and humid, and smelled of the sea. He took a moment to reflect on his surroundings before setting out.  
  
The elves had established this foothold on Kunark not long ago. They found the place deadly and inhospitible, yet pilgrims and explorers flocked there, as did mercenaries and adventurers. In typical elven fashion, before even the fortifications were complete, the elves had erected a great temple, and atop it now stood a colossus in the likeness of their avatar- princess. The great statue of Firiona Vie which gave the settlement its name served as a lighthouse for ships on the Deep and a beacon for all who were good in Kunark. But she surveyed little else that was fair. By the standards of Felwithe and Kelethin, Firiona Vie was a cesspool- an ugly, half-finished village that was more of an armed encampment than a town. The walls were crudely fashioned, and the siege engines towered above all save the great statue. Guardsmen and soldiers outnumbered craftsmen and scholars here. Firiona Vie was a refuge in a wild land- an isolated fortress of good at the tip of a sweltering, tropical continent teeming with dark and evil.  
  
Belrosian found his friend Keil facing the sunrise, deep in meditation. "Greetings, Weedmage," the wizard said with a sarcastic grin. The half- elven druid blinked and came reluctantly out of his dawn reverie. Not quite ignoring the wizard's good-natured barb, Keil smiled up at the erudite. "Ah, Uncle," he said. "It is good to see you finally awake. Are you always this late abed?" Belrosian only scowled. "Come, Belrosian," Keil said, laughing as the wizard helped him to his feet. "We should not keep the others waiting."  
  
They found Kalweni and Hallertau resting at the drawbridge. The paladin and the warrior had been fighting drachnids through the night, and by their expressions having a tough time of it. Kalweni looked troubled. "These drachnids are some fellspawn of the dark elves," she said, "and an abomination to all that is sacred before Karana. They terrorize the forest, cutting our supply lines and making it all but impossible to get reinforcements to our troops battling at the Sarnak Fort."  
  
Keil nodded. He was counted high among the order of the Champions of the Light, as was Kalweni. "It is for this very reason we have come here," he said.  
  
They made their way along the shore, until they came to some ancient ruins. A clear stream flowed down out of the mountains and fell by a short fall into the sea. Kalweni glanced at Keil. The druid shaded his eyes with his hand and peered westward. "I can see any number of drachnids in the woodline across the bay, moving about unhindered," he reported. Kalweni nodded. Belrosian clenched his spellbook tightly, and Hallertau busily checked the straps on his armor. And so the four Champions set out to take the fight to the enemy. "If I ain't dying, I ain't trying," said Hallertau with a grin. The others said nothing.  
  
The group crossed the bay and set up on the beach. Kalweni thrust her great blade Wurmslayer into the sand. "With the sea at our backs and the dark woods before us, we make our stand here," she ordered. "If things go badly, you all are to fall back across the bay to the shelter of Firiona Vie's battlements." The paladin turned and looked into the darkness of the jungle. "Await my return. I will see what I can smoke out." Grabbing up her weapon, she ran off.  
  
Moments later, they saw Kalweni returning. Chasing her out of the jungle came three huge drachnids. They were like giant spiders, save that dark elven torsos sprouted from the front- Tier'dal faces, feral with rage, with angry red eyes. Belrosian could do nothing but stare for several moments. Here he was, about to fight the very creatures which terrorized all who would journey to the Lake, which he himself had once feared.  
  
Kalweni slashed at the spider-things about her, radiant with the blinding light of Karana's blessing. The largest drachnid hissed at her, and lashed out with a barbed leg. Hallertau leapt in- an armored whirl of blades, kicks and curses under the spider's belly. Keil snarled like a feral wolf and cast a spell. Although he came from a forest far away, the jungle responded to his call. The very earth itself seemed to reach up, hampering the movements of all three spider-things. Belrosian gestured, and spoke quietly some arcane syllables in Old Erudian. From his frail hands came fire and ice.  
  
With a sickening thump, Kalweni's wurmslayer severed the dark elven torso from an unnatural spider's body. The female had been the largest of the three. The two remaining male drachnids did not hesitate for a moment. With an evil hiss, they leapt at Kalweni to avenge their mate. Soon, they too were defeated.  
  
That day, the four Champions went on to slay drachnids in heaps. They fought on until their party had run out of arrows. Adventurers bound for the war in the Lake cheered as they passed.  
  
If but for a day, they were the Champions of Firiona Vie. 


	8. On Safari in Kunark

ON SAFARI IN KUNARK  
  
"You must go on to the frontier without me," Kalweni announced sadly. "I have pressing matters to attend to. As the Justiciar-Prophet, I am urgently needed back at the guildhall, and honor-bound to see things done." Ignoring the puzzled looks, she turned to Belrosian. "I knew I should have taught you how to wield a sword," she said, "but now it will have to wait until we meet again." Kalweni turned and started towards the docks. "Watch out for him, Hallertau," the paladin called out over her shoulder.  
  
***  
  
Belrosian sat next to Keil atop the mountain pass leading out from the Lake of Ill Omen. Hallertau had gone on ahead with a ranger they'd met to scout the way. They looked out over a great valley in the Frontier Mountains.  
  
Atop a hill on the far side of the valley, three ancient statues reared up out of the mist, the crumbling remains of some bygone empire. "The immensity of this land simply amazes me," the wizard said.  
  
"Beautiful, isn't it," said Keil, with a gleam in his eye. The two sat there silently for a moment. "You know," Keil said suddenly, "you and Hallertau should come with me to Velious, or to Solusek's Eye..." The druid's voice trailed off when he noticed the sour look on the wizard's face.  
  
"I really should return to my tower soon," Belrosian stammered. "I need to re-organize my rune drawer." Belrosian hated leaving the comfort of his tower, though he often did. "Why, my library is a frightful mess," he continued.  
  
"The tower hasn't been cleaned in ages, not since my last apprentice left."  
  
"The troll who wanted to learn wizardry?" chuckled Keil.  
  
"These expeditions are always interrupting my research," the wizard complained, shaking his head. Keil simply sighed, and decided to try again later.  
  
Suddenly, they heard sounds of Hallertau returning. He came huffing back up the hill- chased by three goblins!  
  
"Get up an' help me out here, you egg-head!" he shouted. Belrosian and Keil leapt to their feet. They could see that the dwarf was hurting, bleeding from many wounds- any one of which would have knocked the frail wizard unconscious.  
  
One of the goblins- a shaman- kept healing the others as fast as the dwarf could hit them, and Hallertau just could not get in a decisive blow. Belrosian raised both hands in an arcane gesture. BOOM! BOOM! The goblin witch doctor exploded in a storm of magical fire and ice. Enraged, it charged at Belrosian. BOOM! The wizard took a step back. BOOM! The goblin was dead. Satisfied that the wizard was all right, Hallertau turned back to face the other two goblins.  
  
***  
  
Later, when they were resting, a mountain giant tump came stomping up the hillside. Hallertau craned his neck up at the giant which towered above him. The sturdy dwarf came hardly up to the level of the giant's knees. "Hand me my Dwarven War Ladder, Bel," he chuckled, fingering his great sword. "I'm goin' up." 


	9. The Messenger

THE MESSENGER  
  
The messenger found Benarque lazily fishing in by the pool in Surefall Glade, and handed him a sealed scroll. The perplexed ranger set aside his pole and eyed the seal; it bore the rune-mark of his old friend Belrosian, the wizard. A hurried reading of the parchment brought a smile to Benarque's stubbly face and he exclaimed, "Belrosian Kenshed, a father!" He stood up and slapped the mystified messenger boy on the back. "What news! Who would have ever thought? Here is a gold piece for your trouble, lad," he said, handing a shining coin to the boy. "And you'll have another if you wait a spell for me compose a reply." Benarque rushed into his cabin and returned with parchment and quill and began to write. After a few minutes, he finished and looked it over with approval. It read:  
  
Dearest Belrosian,  
  
Most high and honored congratulations to you! This is indeed the most wonderful magic you have ever devised, and you will no doubt be remembered more for these two fruits of your labor than any arcane lightning bolt. My heart weeps that I cannot be near to celebrate the naming of the twain. They have a good man to guide them into this frightening world we live in. I trust you thoroughly to teach them as you taught me, and help them find their destinies, be they under wood or sky, marble or stone. Your wisdom and love will be all they need.  
  
May you and your family know a long and joyful time of peace and prosperity. May the little ones be twice blessed to grow into strong and brave adventurers like their father. May they always seek knowledge and tranquility under your watchful eye. And always remember their Uncle Benarque will be glad to show them the ways of the wood, and tell them all the tales of a musty scholar with a heart of gold.  
  
Praise the gods for your gift of life, two lives. Love them well, my friend. You are a worthy father. Peace and happiness be with you the rest of your days.  
  
May your spells never fizzle, and your robes never want for cleaning,  
  
~Benarque of Surefall, your loyal friend  
  
The messenger raced off with the precious letter secure in a scrollcase, while Benarque smiled after him. The wizard would scarce have time to read a simple letter now, but somehow he knew all things would balance out. He felt lucky to have such a friend.  
  
Scooping up his fishing pole and tackle, he made for his workshop to begin carving out the yew for two miniature longbows, like the ones the Gladesman wield but small enough for a child to use. He engraved each of their names on the handgrip of the bows and before long, held two beautifully crafted Jaggedpine bows which he packed away carefully in a chest. He suited up in his travelling gear, all but his sword. This he left sitting in its sheath on the wall of his cabin. He would not need it for this journey.  
  
Benarque strode into the west, a smile on his face, the wind in his hair. Belrosian a father. Who would have imagined it? 


	10. Epilogue

The Wisdom of a Young Erudite  
by Belrosian Kenshed  
Ambassador Seer of the Champions of the Light

1. A wizard's first job is to always have enough mana in an emergency.

2. A wizard's second job is to equal the damage output of his tank.

3. You don't have to personally turn the tide of every battle to be useful to the group.

4. Never cast your area spells too early in the battle.

5. Ah, the wonderful exhilaration of casting my first Gate.

6. I get the impression that most sixth level warriors think they're invincible.

7. Qualities to look for in a puller: good vision, knows the zone well, talks fast and runs faster.

8. Having another wizard in the group is great for my personal mana supply.

9. The zone you start in makes a bigger difference than your starting stats. My hat is off to any Erudite wizard who can make it alone through the first few levels in the hellish Toxxulia Forest.

10. Take the high ground. The best place a wizard can be is behind the tanks and above the battle.

11. As an Erudite, your red robes will stand out in an ocean of blue.

12. I have yet to die from lack of mana.

13. Always mark your departure with some stylish wizardry.

14. With a decent row of meatshields in front of me, I don't have to run around during a battle getting my robes dirty.

15. Root everything that is about to kill your friend. Root everything that is about to kill you. Root everything that tries to escape. Root everything that tries to go for help. Heck, just root everything.

16. I love the smell of mana in the morning.

17. Wizards who follow the Burning Prince believe its better to burn out than fade away. Those who seek the Divine Truth from Quellios the Tranquil preach the twin wisdoms of patience and awareness. Followers of Karana will simply tell you to stay out of storms.

18. Wizards have a shorter list of spells than other pure casters.

19. The bad roleplaying epidemic has spread from North America. Now we've infected France as well.

20. Never let a halfling borrow your spellbook. Not even for just a minute.

21. If you ever find yourself thinking you should probably run, then it's already too late.

22. Be familiar with all the creatures in the zone.

23. The leading cause of death among wizards is probably coming up behind you.

24. Don't let your bard sing chords on the Snake Ledge.

25. Never go into Black Burrow without two tanks in your group.

26. Famous last words: "I'll just pull a small one."

27. Most problems can be solved by the judicious application of a little mana.

28. The Sentinels of Erudin are not the most energetic guards in all Norrath. That honor goes to Guard Cheslin, in the Qeynos Hills.

29. Always have a bodyguard.

30. Your gate will never go unstable and collapse as long as you're just going back to town to buy food.

31. A warrior's only means of escape from a bad is situation is by running.

32. Every profession can play a useful role in my group as long as they can keep a monster's attention.

33. A wizard can solo well- as long as root holds.

34. It's easier to wash a robe than to knock dents out of armor.

35. You don't always want the tanks standing between you and the enemy, but you do always want the tanks closer to the mob than you are.

36. Hit points are almost useless to a wizard.

37. An enchanter's spells are much more taunting than a wizard's.

38. When the group is resting, always post a guard for wandering monsters.

39. A good group is not a democracy. The group leader must be ready to lead, and the group members must be ready to obey. Leadership is essential in any unfamiliar or dangerous area, yet it is an intangible factor that has nothing to do with profession, group composition or class balance.

40. A wizard's spells are useless against a foe that is 6 levels higher.

41. As a proud descendent of Erud, you should never beg for money.

42. You can judge a player by how he reacts to his own character's death.

43. Always be aware if your mana level gets into your evac reserves.

44. Nowhere does it state that the more difficult classes will eventually become the most powerful.

45. New spells take a few levels to get broken in. Don't throw out your old spells just because you got a new one.

46. A wizard is like a backpack full of fireworks that follows you around and procs automatically.

47. Make it a point never to gate back when your tank has to walk.

48. Even the mightiest river overflows its bank at times.

49. A true newbie values information over items and coins.

50. Playing a wizard well means learning to manage both mana and aggro.

51. A good wizard in a group is virtually maintenance-free. He needs few, if any, buffs or heals- just a clarity if possible.


End file.
